


Under the Weather

by Rina (rinadoll)



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Exhaustion, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24193768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinadoll/pseuds/Rina
Summary: Hermione has worked herself into exhaustion and illness, but she has it handled. Until she doesn’t.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Charlie Weasley
Comments: 13
Kudos: 101
Collections: Hurt Comfort Exchange 2020





	Under the Weather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LamiaCalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LamiaCalls/gifts).



Blast it all. 3am again. 

Hermione rubbed at her eyes, irritated. She always had every intention of sticking to her 11pm bedtime, but it hadn’t stuck lately. 

Three hours until she needed to wake for work. Was it worth the sleep? Her sandy, burning eyes said yes, but she wavered. If she was lucky, her alarm would come before the nightmares. A side effect of this translation work set her dreams back in the war and she couldn’t wait to be finished. They’d been building in number and intensity for weeks until they’d become nightly horrors.

She reluctantly tidied for the...well, morning, and set her owl, Bea, off with a draft and some questions. 

Two and a half hours later, the nightmares won. She watched Fred die, then George, Ron, Ginny in close succession. The remaining Weasleys glared at her, asking her what good it was to be the cleverest witch of her age if she just let everyone die. 

She woke, shaking, and made herself a bracing cuppa. The shaking only faded slightly, and she felt heavy as she made her way to the office.

“Are you entirely well?” Imogene asked. Her indomitable assistant frowned, eyes narrowed. 

“Of course I am,” Hermione said, frowning back. 

“All right,” Imogene said, a trifle doubtfully, and handed over the morning mail. 

Hermione buried herself in work until after sunset, went home for dinner and to work more on the translation. She was up too late, she had a nightmare, she felt even worse, and the cycle continued for two more days. She was almost entirely done in, but she was determined.

Imogene kept giving her suspicious looks all the next morning, especially as she showed up wrapped in a warm cloak and scarf on a day most everyone else seemed to think was warm. Hermione disagreed, that was all. 

“This just arrived by owl from Romania,” Imogene interrupted her work, holding up a stuffed envelope.

Hermione tightened the scarf wrapped around her neck and felt her stomach leap. Yes, it was very exciting to get her draft back. She held herself back from snatching it out of Imogene’s hands, but couldn’t help her smile as she opened it up.

She was lucky that she’d stayed friendly with the Weasleys after she and Ron went their own ways. She continued to attend some family gatherings and had been delighted to learn that Charlie was an expert in rune translations. Ancient dragon care and history was in the old language, and he’d been happy to start a correspondence and assist her translations. He was also a delightful writer and she always enjoyed his accompanying letters. 

She absentmindedly shed her cloak and scarf as she read. The office had warmed up considerably, and by the time she was ready to leave, letter and notes in hand, she wished for short sleeves and her hair off her neck. Until, of course, she stepped outside and had to wrap herself back up again, and then overheated by the time she was home. Finicky weather. 

Hermione spent the evening with tea and Charlie’s notes. His cheery commentary and personal anecdotes about the Weasley tradition of the stories kept her mood light and kept the nightmares completely at bay for the first time in weeks. She slept deeply.

~~~~

Charlie knocked again and waited. It was possible Hermione wasn’t home, but her Sunday morning routine always involved a lie-in and a lazy breakfast and few things would come between her and it. It was her one indulgence, the remains of her Sunday mornings with his younger siblings and Harry. But she wasn’t expecting him, so maybe he’d gambled wrong.

He knocked again, reluctant to leave. With a sigh, he had to admit it was a lost cause. He pushed off of the door frame, but then heard a crash. He frowned and knocked harder. “Hermione?”

He thought he heard her respond, but it wasn’t clear. He knocked again. 

The door opened slowly, and Hermione looked wretched. Her reddened eyes were matched by her flushed red cheeks, her curls were standing in ways he’d never envisioned, and she looked ready to topple over the moment she let go of the door. She squinted. “Charlie?”

“Oh, love,” he said sympathetically. “You look awful.”

She made a face, rubbing at her forehead. “I didn’t know you were coming. This might not be a good time.” Her wracking cough made them both wince.

“I didn’t want to say anything because I wasn’t sure if I’d get my leave,” Charlie explained, watching her carefully. She was starting to list. “May I come in?”

“I don’t think—“ she began, but slumped against the door with another cough.

“Let me help you get settled again, make sure you have everything you need,” he offered. “It’s miserable being sick when you live alone, and you shouldn’t have to deal with that if you don’t have to.” 

He stepped forward and pushed the door slightly as he passed. Hermione stumbled and he caught her arm as gently as he could. She was burning up.

“I—I suppose,” she conceded. Her other hand fluttered over his before he stepped closer to let her shut the door behind him. 

“All right, let's get you back to bed,” he said, dropping his bags and getting his arm around her waist. She was still stumbling. “When did you last have something to drink?”

“I had tea, when I got home from work,” Hermione said, panting a bit. Charlie wanted to just pick her up, but didn’t think she would appreciate that. They passed a mess of books on the floor that must have been the crash he’d heard.

“Working on a Saturday?” he asked, taking on more of her weight. “Surely they let even rising stars have weekends.”

“Saturday?” Hermione said, confused. “No, today’s Saturday.”

“Today’s Sunday,” he said gently, and summoned a pitcher of water and a glass to her bedside table. He settled her into the chair and did a quick change spell on her sheets. 

“I’m sure that can’t be right,” Hermione said, head propped up on her shaking hand. 

“And yet,” Charlie said, helping her drink the water.

“I slept all of yesterday?” Hermione asked, horrified. “I haven’t had time to do half your suggestions yet. And I missed the market!” She yawned.

“The suggestions aren’t going anywhere,” Charlie said, doing a quick freshening charm on her purple pajamas and helping her stand. “And neither are you. Into bed now.”

“I couldn’t possibly sleep anymore,” she protested. 

“Just rest while I get you something to eat,” he said, guiding her to the bed. She sat down and frowned, rubbing at her forehead.

“All right,” she said, sliding back with a wince. “Yes, that’s probably a good—thank you, Charlie.”

“Of course,” he said, holding himself back from tucking her in the way he wished to.

He fled to the kitchen and rested against the counter to get his bearings. After weeks of insightful, intelligent letters with Hermione, he’d looked forward to seeing her in person again. Late at night, he could sometimes admit that he wanted to see if their chemistry had shifted to match the tone and familiarity of their letters. Other times, the guilt of thinking that way about his little brother’s ex was too much. But finding her like this hadn’t been in any of his thoughts. This wasn’t what he’d planned for. At all. 

But that wouldn’t help Hermione right now. He moved around her kitchen and put together an oat porridge on one burner and a basic diagnostic potion on another. By the time he’d finished and gotten them on a tray, however, she was already asleep. 

He charmed the porridge to stay warm and let himself straighten her quilt, folding it down to help her cool down.

Once back in her living room, her bedroom door cracked open, he turned around and wondered what he could do. Everything looked tidy, and he didn’t want to poke around her belongings. 

Groceries—she had said she’d missed her market trip. He found her list hanging up in the kitchen and added a few comfort foods. He sent her owl off to a wizard owned grocery that he knew wasn’t too far, with a request for delivery. He didn’t know what her neighbors were, and didn’t want to give anyone a fright.

Oh, and cleaning—his mum was wild about cleaning when one of them would get sick. He moved through her space, using a few different cleaning and scouring spells to disinfect everything.

That done, he browsed her bookshelves and picked up a new dragon history book he’d been meaning to read himself. He settled in with a cup of tea and got lost in it.

A loud thud startled him out of it, over an hour later.

“Hermione?” He called, leaping up as he her her groan. 

“I’m okay,” she called back, and she did sound better. “I’ll be right there.”

He waited impatiently, but she wasn’t long. “Are you all right?”

“I hit my head,” she said, rubbing at her forehead gingerly. “Smacked it right into the door frame. It feels better now.”

“That’s not the way it goes,” Charlie said, alarmed. “Not at all.” He stepped over and pushed her bushy curls out of the way for a better look. “I don’t think there’s a bump.” He stroked his fingers over her forehead, not feeling any knots. 

“Good,” Hermione said, sounding a little breathless again. “I’ve been so dizzy since I woke up with the doorbell. The world was moving in all sorts of wrong ways, even when I woke up this time. But now I’m finally, blessedly clear.” 

“But still feverish,” Charlie pointed out, though he was still worried about her head. “I made a diagnostic for you. Sit and let me get it.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, taking the potion. “For all of this. I’ve got it from here, though, honestly.” She swallowed the glass down.

Charlie had some thoughts about that, especially her bump, but waited quietly for the results.

Hermione blew out a puff of black air, and followed it with a harsh cough. Charlie handed her the water. “I don’t think I’ve seen black,” she said, draining it.

“It means no potions, just rest and waiting it out,” Charlie said, frowning. “Mum used to get it when the littlest kids were really young and she was overrun. Potions will make your sickness worse.”

“So I have to Muggle it out?” Hermione said, pulling a face. “Paracetamol, here I come. Not half as efficient.”

“I made some oats, too; they’re warming by your bed,” Charlie said. He offered his arm but Hermione shook her head.

“I can manage now that everything stopped moving,” she said. “Thanks, but I am fine now. I appreciate all of your help, but your family is expecting you.”

“They aren’t, actually,” Charlie said, gently herding her towards her room. “I didn’t know if I was going to get off, we had two expectant mothers, so this is a surprise visit. No one is expecting me, and you’re not fine. You’re as warm and red as a Fireball.”

“Surely not that bad,” Hermione said, sitting on her bed and catching her breath. She did a temperature spell. “Oh.”

“Almost 39*,” Charlie said, incredulous. “Hermione, I’d feel awful leaving you alone like this. You have a high fever, and I don’t know if you have a concussion from that whack. Is there someone else I could call over?”

Hermione was quiet. “No. There isn’t.” She slid back under the covers and took her porridge without meeting his eye. 

“Then I’m staying,” Charlie said, firmly. “Mum didn’t raise anyone callous enough to leave a sick friend alone in their time of need.”

“I’d argue, but I’m too tired,” she admitted. “Just for a day or so, then, all right?”

“I’ll get your...what did you call it? Paramour?” Charlie asked.

“Paracetamol,” Hermione corrected. 

“That,” Charlie agreed, and headed off with relief. 

Their conversation had apparently tired her out, and she was half asleep by the time he returned. 

Hermione continued to sleep most of the day, waking for water and a few more bites periodically. Charlie kept reading the dragon book, adopting one of Hermione’s scrolls for notes and plans. 

She had a cozy, inviting space, with deeply plush furniture. He found himself relaxing and feeling comfortable in a way that was surprising for him. Hermione’s light snores and Bea’s soft coos added to the homely atmosphere. 

By bedtime, her temperature was still high, and she wasn’t engaging in conversation as well as earlier. She protested needing anything but sleep and Muggle medicine, but let him do cooling charms on her forehead and wrists. She slept more comfortably after that.

In the absence of a guest room, he did a hopeful accio for a camp bed and ended up with a sleeping bag. He set up outside of her bedroom so he could hear her if she needed help, and fell asleep himself.

~~  
Hermione woke up in the dark, shivering so hard she could barely tuck the covers more tightly around herself. She could hear faint snores and remembered that Charlie was still there. It was an awful embarrassment, but she was grateful he’d insisted on staying. She hadn’t felt this sick since she’d been very young, and it was overwhelming. 

Her head ached, her body ached, and she’d cry if she thought it would help. A quick warmth spell made her feel worse, and with a whimper she’d never admit to, she checked her temperature and realized she’d hit 39*.

“Hey,” Charlie whispered from her doorway. “All right?”

“No,” she said, her voice sounding rough as she coughed again. “My fever’s up to 39, and I’m too cold.”

He ended her warming spell with a flick and sat down next to her. “You need to cool down, not warm up,” he reminded her.

“I’m already cold,” she protested, even though she logically knew he was right. 

“I know,” he said sympathetically. “It’s the worst. But you’re radiating heat. I think we’ve gone past what the charms can do, and it’s time for a bath or shower. Can you get up?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, feeling fretful. “If I have to, a shower.” 

“Let me get everything set up,” Charlie said, patting her leg and heading out.

Hermione buried her face in her trembling hands. She took a deep breath, coughed, and pushed herself up. She slid her legs around and had to take a break.

“Ready?” Charlie asked, offering his hand. 

Hermione grasped it, and pulled herself up. Her legs felt weak, and she sagged against him. 

“I know, love,” he said softly. “You’ll feel better after this, I promise.”

She leaned against him and let him propel her towards the bathroom. She stared at her bathtub and despaired of climbing in. 

“I’ll help you in, and then sit outside,” Charlie said, clearly reading her mind. 

It was exhausting, and she wasn’t standing for long before she slid to the bottom of the tub and let the water cascade over her. It was cold and miserable, and she couldn’t raise her arms to do anything with her hair, but she could wash herself off. She rested a minute for every few seconds of action, and finally buried her head in her knees.

“All right?” Charlie called.

“Almost ready,” Hermione said, wearily. 

“There’s new pajamas on the sink,” Charlie said. 

“Right,” Hermione said, but she wasn’t sure it carried. She turned the water off, and started to climb over the side—standing wasn’t an option. 

She made a face as she landed on the wet pajamas she’d stripped off, and dropped her towel over herself. She slumped against the tub, worn out from wrapping it slightly around her body. “Can you toss me the pajamas, please?”

“Of course,” Charlie said, and stopped in the doorway. “Oh, love.”

“I ran out of energy,” Hermione said. “A while back.”

“Okay.” He set a lilac nightgown, her favorite, next to her. “Do you need help?”

“No,” she said.

He nodded. “Right.” 

Hermione reached out and picked up her nightgown. She made a face as it stuck to her damp arm and she closed her eyes in defeat.

“So here’s what we’ll do.” Charlie set two more towels next to her. “I think you could use a hand. So we’ll turn you around, get you dry and dressed and back in bed. Can we?”

Hermione nodded, eyes still closed. 

Charlie shifted her around, his touch gentle, and dried her off, leaving her first towel in place for modesty. “What can I do with your hair?” he asked.

“Mmm, ponytail or bun?” she asked. “Anything off my neck?” 

“Brush?” he asked.

“No, just sort of, rake at it,” she demonstrated with her fingers. “It’ll explode otherwise.”

He set at it, and she felt her curls being woven into a tidy French plait. “And here we go,” he said, dropping her nightgown over her head. 

She slid her arms in place and pulled the towel free. Charlie whisked them all away and offered his hand again. “Ready?”

“I’d like to just sit here, honestly,” she said, resting her head against the cool tub. 

He laughed. “Probably not a good long term plan.” 

“I suppose not,” she agreed. “Just a quick rest then.”

“Let me help?” he asked. “I can bring you back to bed, and then you can rest as much as you’d like.”

She hesitated. “I—I suppose.”

She felt him stoop down, and then his arms were around her. He lifted her easily, and she leaned against his broad chest. His sturdy build, muscles honed from dragon work, helped her feel safe and comfortable in his hold. He moved them quickly and smoothly to her room and deposited her in bed, where fresh sheets waited. 

“I do feel better,” she said, nestling down into her cool pillows. She yawned. “Thanks, Charlie.”

“Of course,” he said, smoothing down the quilt around her and checking her temperature. “Your temp’s down, and you feel cooler, too.” He gave her paracetamol and water and patted her foot. “You can sleep now, I know that was hard.”

“All right. Good night,” she said, yawning again. 

He was closing her door when she called out to him. She didn’t mean to, and was almost as surprised as he was. “I know it’s the middle of the night, and you’ve already done so much.”

He laughed. “Those are true statements. Is there a but coming?”

“Could you read to me? Just a little bit,” she said, quickly. “I know it’s a lot, I just—“

“Sure I will,” he said easily. “It’s no bother.”

He picked the top book on her bedside stack, and glanced around for a spot to sit. 

“There’s room here,” Hermione said boldly, feeling herself flush in a way that had nothing to do with her fever. “I’ve gotten all my germs all over you anyway.”

“Also true,” Charlie said cheerfully and settled in, but on top of the quilt. The weight of his body next to hers was almost as comforting as his voice, and she slipped into sleep. 

~~~

Charlie woke up near noon with a crick in his neck and an arm across his chest. 

He realized he’d fallen asleep reading, and looked down at Hermione. She was breathing easier, and her cheeks weren’t flushed any longer. He didn’t feel like he was snuggled up with a furnace and he breathed a sigh of relief. Best of all, there was still no bump from her door jam collision. 

It was also clear certain parts of his anatomy were very pleased with the sleeping arrangements. He flushed and gingerly moved her arm to rest between them, hoping she’d sleep until he could take care of things. 

And she did. He showered, making himself presentable, tidied his bedding, and made porridge and toast. He carried it in as she was sitting up. Her eyes were clear for the first time and she smiled wanly at him. 

“It’s nearly normal now,” she said. “All thanks to you.”

He had a feeling she was edging towards asking him to go again, but didn’t trust she wouldn’t relapse. Charlie settled the tray over her lap and picked up the book from earlier.

“It’s fair to call it team effort,” he said. “Want to hear more?” He settled at the foot of the bed, careful not to jostle. 

“Breakfast and books in bed?” she asked, smiling slightly. “I could get used to that.”

“Sounds fine to me,” he said, and started reading. 

To his surprise, Hermione didn’t ask him to leave at all. She napped a few times, but also spent a few hours with him on the couch. Spending time with her was everything he’d let himself imagine—fun, mentally invigorating, entertaining. She enjoyed his stories and he was fascinated by her work at the Ministry. It was clear she was going to change the world, if it just got out of her way.

Her temperature hovered just at and just above normal, and she seemed to be regaining some strength. She even invited him to read her to sleep again, though he was careful not to fall asleep this time. She was a family friend and had dated his brother, so no matter his feelings, he had to keep things in perspective. 

~~~  
Hermione woke early on Tuesday and finally felt herself. She stretched and reveled in the lack of aches. She opened her door and found Charlie asleep in her old muggle sleeping bag on the floor. He was so handsome, she realized. It nearly took her breath away, this opportunity to just watch him. His red hair was poking in all directions, he was snoring, the whole picture was just so endearing.

Oh, drat it all. She’d tried so hard to push away the feelings, knowing she couldn’t fall for another Weasley. How could she show her face at the Burrow? Would they even let her? But he was special, so kind and intelligent. How could she feel any other way?

She stepped around him with a sigh. It was the worst luck, honestly. She didn’t want him to leave, but it would be for the best. She’d given in to her impulse to let him read to her, and it couldn’t go further than that. 

With a strong tea in hand, she settled at the table with her translation work. She had time to get a good hour in before heading to the Ministry. 

When Charlie woke half an hour later, she was slightly slumped onto her hand but plugging away. 

“What are you doing?” he asked incredulously, running his hands through his bedhead.

“Just a spot of translation before work,” Hermione said, sliding the teapot towards him. “Help yourself.”

“Hermione. My very dear Hermione.” He put his hands flat on the table and leaned forward.

She stared at him, puzzled.

“Put this away,” he said. “You’re not working today.”

“Oh, I feel loads better,” she assured him. “The rest yesterday was just what I needed.”

He raised his eyebrow. “You need at least two more days,” he said firmly. “We’ve put a lot of effort into getting you well.”

“And we’ve succeeded,” Hermione said, though that was undermined by a yawn.

“If you can get dressed and eat without having to sit down and rest, then we’ll know we’ve succeeded,” he said. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Hermione said, confidently. 

She failed. 

Charlie was nice about it, at least. And she had to admit, he was right. By lunch, she was back in bed for a nap. 

But the hours before and after—it was so easy to have him there. She’d always been precious about her privacy, needing time to recharge energy, but he only seemed to make her feel better. He made her laugh more than anyone else she’d spent time with, like when he used her candlesticks to reenact a dragon adventure. 

He already felt like a part of her home, and that was worrisome. He was a friend. He was a natural caretaker, it was his job. He was the older brother and brother-in-law of her best friends, one of whom she’d dated. She had to keep everything in perspective. 

~~~  
Hermione cried out and Charlie was on his feet in a flash. He raced from the table to find her restlessly turning and shaking on the couch. He knelt down and rested his hand on hers. “Hermione?”

She jerked with a scream and rolled off, landing half on him. “Oh,” she cried, covering her face and flinching. 

“It’s me, it’s Charlie,” he said quickly. “It’s okay, Hermione, you’re safe.”

“Oh,” she said, panting. “Charlie. Yes. All right.”

“Yes, you’re all right,” he said gently, helping her sit up as he shifted off his knees. “What happened?”

“The war happened,” she said quietly, rubbing her eyes. “I can’t wait to be done with that blasted translation. It was my gift from Dumbledore after his death, you know.”

“I didn’t know,” Charlie said, wanting to gather her in his arms. To bloody hell with what his family would say. Did it matter? He understood her. He cared for her. He gathered her in his arms.

She threw her arms around him and held on tightly. 

“Do you have them often?” he asked. His war had looked so different from hers, not half as horrific, but his had never gone away, either. 

“It’s been weeks now,” she said, voice slightly muffled in his shirt. “It got so that I couldn’t bear to sleep. Sometimes the radio helped, even if it still meant I didn’t sleep as well. It distracted my dreams.”

“No wonder you were so sick,” Charlie said, realization dawning. “You were rundown with all your work, and the translations, and no sleep.” And no wonder she had wanted him to read to her at night. He squeezed her. 

“Work’s awful, no one wants to work with me,” she burst out. “All my friends have babies and can’t go out. I have nothing else to do, and I’m just so bloody tired.” She burrowed her head deeper and he stroked her back.

Charlie understood loneliness and fear, having moved a world away from all friends and family, as well as how the Ministry worked. He didn’t know how his Dad had put up with it.

“You’re the greatest witch of your generation,” he reminded her, tugging lightly at her plait. “Those Ministry workers will see which side their bread is buttered on soon enough. They’ll kowtow to your face then, at least.”

She laughed, sounding a little watery. “And still talk about me behind my back, of course.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed. 

“Comforting,” she said drily, sitting up. She glanced down at the floor next to him, but didn’t move. Instead, she positively snuggled against his shoulder and his heart leaped. 

“I love your letters,” she said, eyes down. “They’re very you. Funny and informative. And they helped keep the nightmares away. Even before this week, you were helping me feel better.”

“Your letters are the highlight of my week,” he said, and she finally met his gaze. He smiled at her, his heart beating hard enough she had to feel it. “I have been so happy since we started writing to each other. My friends tease me about them, about—you.” 

He hoped she understood what he wasn’t saying. That they all thought he had a girlfriend, a new love. He hadn’t told them anything, but now he could see that his guilt had been misplaced. Ron was happy with Gemma, and Hermione deserved happiness too. Even if it was with him, if she wanted that too.

“I’m afraid, though, Charlie. Your Mum, and Ginny, and—“ she began, but he cut her off, desperately hopeful.

“They’ll get used to it. They’ll all get used to it,” he said. “If there’s something to get used to?” 

“I would very much like there to be,” she said, taking his hand, and meeting his eyes with a growing, beaming smile.

Charlie gave a whoop that made her laugh, and pressed a kiss to her lips, germs be damned. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”


End file.
